Page 43 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)

“Do you think she killed him?” one woman said, her voice dropping to a whisper that still managed to be audible in the narrow streets.

“She’s rich now, isn’t she?”

“You have a great deal of fondness for her, do you not?” Mr. Marshall asked, summoning Hamish back to the present.

He turned on his heel and looked at the man.

“Some might find it odd that a patient would be so devoted to a practitioner of the healing arts. You were her patient, were you not?”

“Is that important?”

“It may prove to be,” Marshall said calmly. “Especially since the two of you were alone for some time.”

How had the man discovered that? Had Brendan said something?

“You might consider whether your concern for Mrs. Gilly would be seen as wise at this moment. The very last thing she needs is to have more speculation attached to her name.”

And the very last thing Hamish wanted was advice from Matthew Marshall, but he stifled that comment.

“Will you try to see her?” Hamish asked.

The other man stood finally. He regarded Hamish with an intense stare, and then nodded once. “I will, more for her sake than yours. But I would think about your intentions. What is it you want for Mrs. Gilly? Notoriety or safety?”

“Freedom,” Hamish said curtly.

“Very well,” Marshall responded. “I’ll call upon Sir John in the morning. But do not expect him to agree.”

Hamish thanked the other man and took his leave of the Grant home, bidding the family farewell. At the door, Brendan joined him. His brother had moved from his accommodations to the Rose and Crown a few days earlier. Together they walked back to the inn.

“What did you tell Marshall?” Hamish asked, willing himself to speak in a restrained tone of voice.

Brendan looked surprised. “About what?”

“About Mary being at Castle Gloom.”

“Nothing.” But he noted that Brendan didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I might have said something to Elspeth,” he admitted. “But to no one else.”

Then she must have confided in the minister. It didn’t seem to matter, despite Marshall’s words. Being accused of murder was worse than being labeled a loose woman.

“Has Marshall agreed to call on Sir John?”

Hamish nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Brendan glanced at him from time to time as they walked, as if he were garnering his courage for the question he finally asked. “You’re acting as if she’s more important to you than a simple companion, Hamish.”

Hamish halted at the corner of the street, turned, and looked at Brendan. The lantern hanging outside the inn cast shadows around them, enough that he couldn’t see his brother’s expression.

When had his feelings turned from lust to something more?

On the morning when he’d awakened and studied her in the faint light?

She’d curled toward him for warmth, and he’d smiled at the effort she’d made to burrow beneath the covers.

One moment she was a siren, the next an elf.

She’d blinked open her eyes, and they’d looked at each other for a stretch of minutes, each moment softly punctuated by the pulse beat of his heart and his suddenly constricted breathing.

He’d known on that morning that he should send her away, but he hadn’t banished her from his hermitage. Instead, he’d turned to her, and they’d spent hours loving each other. He’d pretended it was lust, but need had never before felt as tender.

Until he’d met Mary, he’d never truly wanted to know a woman’s mind, the strength of her character, the tone of her spirit.

“She is,” he said, answering Brendan’s question. “Much more important.”

“Do you think she murdered her husband? Or would it even matter to you if she did?” Brendan asked.

They crossed the street together, Hamish’s mind circling around Brendan’s questions. He recalled another time with Mary. They’d spent the night in abandon, and before he slept he reached to snuff out the flame, but she restrained his hand.

“Could you leave the candle burning?”

“Are you afraid of the dark?” he’d teased, never thinking that she might answer in the affirmative.

“A little.”

“Some people never outgrow their childish fears.”

“I was never afraid of the dark as a child.” She sat on the edge of the bed, faintly lit by the lone candle.

He’d never noticed how beautiful the shape of a woman’s back could be until that moment.

“It’s only been since Gordon died. Sometimes, I think if I turn quickly, I’ll see him standing there. ”

He’d placed his hand on her shoulder, a wordless gesture of comfort.

“Do you think that’s the reason ghosts are rarely seen?

” she asked. “Because they know that the living would be terrified? I wonder if they whisper among themselves about rules against visitation. Such vigilance would explain why ministers speak of heaven with such fervor, and yet there’s little evidence of the soul’s permanence. ”

“I’ve never lost anyone close to me,” he said. “Other than a great uncle as a child. But if I had, I would probably want to see them, even in my mind’s eye.”

She shook her head vehemently from side to side. “I don’t want to see Gordon. Not as he was toward the last. He was wasting away with that dreadful illness, and there was nothing I could do. When he died, he looked more skeleton than alive.”

Had she given him something to make his death easier? Was a guilty conscience the reason she didn’t want to see Gordon?

He would have known if she carried that sort of guilt. If nothing else, they would have recognized each other for the burden they shared.

“No, I wouldn’t care,” he answered honestly.

He was going to do everything he could to save a woman who might well be guilty of the deeds ascribed to her, because he knew something the sheriff and Brendan probably didn’t. A good person could still perform a vile act.

Sir John Pettigrew did not appear to Matthew to be a man with whom one could reason. Or a man with any type of warmth in his heart, for that matter.

“You can have five minutes with her, no more, and that only because of your ministry, Mr. Marshall.”

“I would need more time than that,” Matthew said patiently, but the sheriff was not to be moved.

“No more. And I will not have you,” the man continued, pointing one imperious finger at him, “bringing her foodstuffs or any other article from outside the prison walls.”

“She has not yet been found guilty,” he gently reminded the sheriff.

“I have no doubt that she will be,” Sir John said, gazing at him with narrowed eyes. As if any compassion directed toward the prisoner was suspect.

“Very well, five minutes.” There was, after all, no other choice. Either he capitulated or he would be forbidden to see Mary. Everyone else who’d petitioned the sheriff had been refused.

“I see myself as a fair man, Mr. Marshall, although I’m aware that others sometimes view me as unnecessarily harsh.

What my critics do not realize is that I see criminals like rats entering a corn crib.

If they are allowed to proliferate, the damage would be incalculable.

By being severe with my punishment, I am guaranteeing safety for the greater population of Inverness. ”

Matthew couldn’t think of a tactful rejoinder, so he remained silent.

“I’ll have a man take you to her,” the sheriff said.

“Thank you for your consideration.”

Sir John nodded and remained seated as Matthew stood.

As he turned to leave, he dared to ask another question, one that had not yet been answered to anyone’s satisfaction. “When will the hearing be held, Sir John?”

“Tomorrow,” Sir John said, eyeing him impatiently. “I grow weary of petitions for visits from this woman’s proponents. You, of all people, should be interested in what they say about her, Mr. Marshall. They extol her virtues as if she’s a saint, and call Mary Gilly the Angel of Inverness.”

“I myself have heard her addressed as such,” Matthew said.

“It’s a pity that heretics are not still burned.”

Matthew had the distinct impression that Sir John would have liked to have been born a few hundred years earlier, so that he might have participated in such tribunals.

As he followed the guard through the labyrinth of corridors, Matthew realized that he couldn’t fault the sheriff for the condition of his jail.

It was clean and airy, and had none of the stench of places he’d seen in London.

However, with the first snow having fallen a few nights ago, it felt colder inside the building than it did outside.

The guard who led him to Mrs. Gilly’s cell looked to be warm enough, but he doubted the condition of the prisoners would be as comfortable.

A thought struck him as they came to yet another hallway.

There was little noise. The only sound was a metallic bang from time to time, or a whimper, but no conversation.

“Is this where the women are kept?”

“Sir John don’t like many women in jail, sir. He prefers them to be shipped off as soon as their verdict is read.”

“How many of them are pronounced innocent?”

The guard turned and looked at him, smiling crookedly. “All them’s that’s here are guilty, sir.”

Matthew remained silent as the guard nodded to another man standing outside a door at the end of a corridor.

“A visitor for the woman. He’s to be allowed five minutes, no more.”

The second man nodded, fumbled with his key, and opened the door, standing aside.

Matthew thanked him and entered the room.

The room was bright with sunshine, but frigid. He bundled up his hands in his sleeves and wished he’d thought to bring his gloves. He would have given them to the woman he addressed now.

“Mrs. Gilly?”